God had taken Rosenleigh.
God had taken his station, his pride, his security.
Bitter hurt caved in on him as he bent his head forward and stared into the empty hearth. God had taken Isabella too. The one person he wanted more than anything. The one person he needed.Why?
“Sir?”
William bounced to his feet and whirled, but his heart slowed when he recognized Mr. Abram stride through the open door.
“Mr. Kensley. I didn’t rightly realize it be you.” A glowing smile radiated from the man’s face as he shut the door behind him and hung his hat on a wooden peg. “You be lookin’ for me, then?”
William took another glance about the bare room.
Mr. Abram clucked. “Oh. You be wonderin’ about the house, eh, sir? You heard then. Rightly honored, I am, that the likes o’ you would come to tell an old man goodbye.”
“Where are you going?”
Mr. Abram blinked, as if the question were absurd. “I be leavin’ for America, sir.”
“When?”
“With the mornin’ sun, I’ll be travelin’ to Ogden Wells. Plan to work out some wages at the docks. The ship be leavin’ in a few months from there.”
“I see.” William blew air from his cheeks and returned to the stool. “I had forgotten.”
“ ’Tis not the only thing, I reckon.”
“What?”
“That you be forgettin’, I mean, sir.” Mr. Abram stepped forward and rubbed his jaw, eyes a little sheepish.
A small smile nudged William’s lips. What a beggar he must look. “Iamunshaven, am I not?” He stood. “I shall trouble you no longer. I wish you Godspeed on your journey, my friend.”
“A friend I am indeedy, sir.” Mr. Abram reached for William’s coat, hesitated, then peeled it back to see the slashes of dried blood. His head tilted with pity. “And one who is not so hurried for America that he could not be helpin’ when needed. Sit back down with you and I’ll be fetchin’ my blankets and food from the cart—”
“Hardly necessary, Mr. Abram. I shall not detain you from your travels.”
“You be putting me in mind of ol’ Rosie when she gets something in her brain.” Mr. Abram grabbed his hat from the peg and swung open the door. “Just you be sittin’ down again, and I’ll be returned in a blink with food and blankets. Time there’ll be in the mornin’ for travel. Tonight, you be needin’ a bit o’ rest.”
William did as he was told, relief relaxing his tired, aching muscles. He wanted to pray that all would be well soon. That he would be strong and his tortured heart would cease to writhe.
But he did not dare.
God might find yet another thing to take away from him.
“I most regret imposing upon your rest this way, Miss Gresham, and if you think it preferable I depart, I shall do so at once.” An older, large-faced Lord Livingstone stood at the end of her bed, Father standing next to him. Both wore expressions of gravity. Both waited for her answer.
She had no voice, so she nodded, but the last thing she wished to do was speak to them. Either of them. Why could they not leave her alone?
If only Bridget were here. Dear Bridget. Isabella nearly wept with the thought of her.
“I know this is rather a matter of delicacy, but I wish you to know that with more men brought in to assist Colonel Nagel’s regiment, the marauders have been accosted at last.”
“You need never have fear of them again,” Father said.
Lord Livingstone stepped around the bed. “My daughter has at last been returned to me.” A vein bulged in his forehead. “The doctor said we were mere days too late.”
The horrors of that moment impressed themselves upon her. Would she ever be free from such memories? Would she ever stop seeing the blood matted in Cressida’s hair, or the wretched devils who dragged her body through the mud, and left her lying dead beside a patch of trees?
